


4 fights

by Eglantine



Series: Rosaline-called-Benvolio [2]
Category: Romeo and Juliet- Shakespeare, Shakespeare- Works
Genre: AU, Gen, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-01
Updated: 2010-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eglantine/pseuds/Eglantine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A follow-up to "Good Will." Several scenes from the point of view of Benvolio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	4 fights

1.  
She heard the shouting in the street and without a second thought let fall her needlework and ran to see what the matter was. Her aunt was at her heels, but Benvolio was younger and quicker and got there first.

"Part, you fools!" --but her voice could not carry over the sounds of the fighting, and a Capulet servingman turned on her, blade bared, and her hands moved without her mind, bringing up the dagger that Romeo and given her and bid her always carry. ("You think the Capulets will let you be just because you are a girl?" he asked-- this back when he loved the feud as well as any man, before this melancholy settled on him and his head and heart were taken up with love.)

 

The sound of Tybalt's voice from somewhere behind her sent a thrill of fear down her spine. They were of an age, Tybalt and she-- were it not for the feuding, they likely would have been married long since, the orphaned niece and nephew of two rich and powerful houses. Tybalt was a small boy, lithe and dark like his Southern mother, and he and Benvolio, tall for her sex, were almost a match in a fight. But he had a sword and she only Romeo's dagger, and soon he had her by the wrist, twisting her arm round behind her back until the knife fell from her hands.

"Peace, peace, Tybalt, I prithee--" she gasped. He pushed, forcing her to her knees.

She wondered what he would have done if the Prince had not arrived at that moment.

2.  
Mercutio gave her a cap and trousers-- because he found it funny, she thought, but she wasn't sure. Who could say what fancy had struck Mercutio at any moment in time? Perhaps he wanted a replacement for Romeo, vanished again in some fit of love or melancholy. So Benvolio followed Mercutio through the street, feeling gloriously cool with the weight of her hair lifted off of her neck and shoulders.

"I pray you, good Mercutio, let's retire. The day is hot, the Capulets abroad..."

Should it give her such joy, when Mercutio teased her and played at words just as if she were Romeo? Maybe he had forgotten she wasn't, she thought.

She wondered if she was in love with Mercutio.

Probably, she thought.

He died holding her hands.

But first: Tybalt came, with other Capulets whose names she knew but in the moment they became nothing more than a blur of faces. She wanted to run, to intercede, but two of them grabbed her, held her arms. They didn't even try to hurt her, like they weren't interested in a fight themselves, just in watching one take place. She tried to kick them, shove them off, wriggle out of their grasp, and in all the fighting and flailing she almost missed it-- the lunge, the block. The hit. Mercutio started with telling jokes and she thought it might be alright, but as she helped him into the house he was bellowing curses, plagues on both their houses. So then she knew it wouldn't be.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said after she had laid him on the floor. She looked helplessly at the wound, her hands fluttering, wishing she knew what to do. He grabbed her hands-- both of them fit in one of his-- to still them.

"Hush, good Benvolio," he said. "I do not blame thee."

"Nay, nay, I am a Montague--" She felt the tears spilling over in spite of herself.

"Thou didst mean well. The road to hell, sweet Rosaline-- I go not often to church, but I have heard that. Perhaps I will see thee there-- ah, God!"

It was not like in plays. For some time after that he could not speak, only turned very white, and gasped, and grabbed her hands so tight in his she thought he might break her fingers, but she did not care. And then he died.

3.  
Tybalt's blood was on her hands. It had been on Romeo's, and she had grabbed them to drag to him to his feet, to force him out of his stupor and make him run because she had seen enough today and did not want to see her cousin arrested as well.

Only once he was out of sight did she turn and force herself to look at Tybalt's body. She could only stand the sight for an instant, then she turned to flee as well. She could hear the voices of citizens—of Capulet, and her uncle Montague—coming to see what the matter was, but she was determined to avoid them all, and only the voice of the Prince stopped her in her tracks.

"You, boy," he said, and she could feel him pointing to her even though she had not yet turned to face him. "What happened here?"

It was only then she remembered Mercutio's cap, his trousers. She tugged the cap from her head as she turned, and as she told the tale it seemed she was listening to some other person speak, someone who could speak the truth almost calmly, almost objectively—someone who could not be she called Benvolio, who wanted to fly to her aunt's arms (her aunt, standing dumb, unable to tear her eyes from the sobbing Lady Capulet) and weep until she could forget this day.

4.  
The city seems so quiet, after all is said and done.


End file.
